Hate of a Father, Love of a Brother
by Charis77
Summary: Faramir loves Boromir more than anyone, but when Denethor dares to do the unthinkable, the brothers suffer from the fall out.


**Author's Note:** So this is an older fic I pulled out, dusted off, and reworked a little. I've always loved it, but didn't put it up with my other Lord of the Rings fics when I first joined FF because I had received a snide review on another site when I first shared it and was too scared to let anyone else see it again. I've grown a lot since then and critical reviews don't hurt me as much as they once did, so this work is getting added to my corpus now.

* * *

The day had begun well. Faramir had risen early, as was his custom, to see the fiery dawn break on the faraway mountains. The sight had caught his breath in his throat and he felt he was being honored by a visit from the Lady Varda herself as brilliant, radiant light poured forth towards Minas Tirith. As usual, after his reverie had lifted, he found that Boromir was not in bed. Faramir might rise early, but Boromir rose even earlier, not to view the dawn but to practice with the sword. His interest lay not in contemplative things such as natural beauty; the ways of a warrior consumed his thoughts instead.

Faramir had descended several flights of steps with a gaiety brought on by the stunning sight he had witnessed that morning. Coming to a high terrace that afforded him a view into one of the many courtyards of the citadel, he perceived the form of Boromir, sword in hand, darting here and there as if engaging real enemies and not air. He paused for a moment to imprint onto his heart and mind this picture of his brother, five years his senior. Faramir was still but a lad at thirteen, Boromir a young man of eighteen. In Faramir's eyes, Boromir was his superior in every way save in lore. Faramir's soul longed not for war, but for peace, and he found it in his books: stories of the past that championed beauty and love and sacrifice. From an early age, Faramir had exhibited an unusual capacity for reading and learning. His love of lore had created in him wisdom beyond his years. Even as young as he was now, his quiet demeanor veiled the strength of a honed mind. Boromir could surely outpace Faramir in battle, but Faramir's knowledge reigned over the elder brother. Yet neither envied the other; on the contrary, what each of them lacked he adored in his brother.

The day would have continued in harmony had not breakfast that morning brought stinging hate onto Faramir's young head. Having observed his brother, Faramir called to him and bade him come to mealtime. Boromir's figure had turned and a wave of his sword signaled he had heard. Faramir continued on to the great hall where he, his brother, and his father dined. The usual spread was laid out, a feast of unparalleled delight unrivaled anywhere in the whole of Middle Earth, consisting of breads, soups, fruits, meats, anything Faramir ever could have wanted. Faramir sat silently on the left side of the table, watched by the servants, and waited for his family to arrive. Boromir was the first to appear.

"Did you see it? Did you see me?" Boromir spoke with breathless excitement, mimicking the paces he had been putting himself through minus his sword.

Faramir nodded and smiled broadly. "Soon to war, I think."

"Yes, yes! Father will have to let me go to war soon. I am ready."

Faramir neglected to ask which war. What did it matter? Any war would suit Boromir, even if he had to make his own.

"Where's Father?"

Faramir shrugged. Denethor spent more and more time locked in his room, rarely seen by anyone but Boromir himself. "Did you see him last night?"

Boromir shook his head, concern in his eyes. "He didn't call for me."

Faramir read his look well. "I am sure he wanted you. Perhaps he is ill and did not wish you to grow sick as he."

Boromir narrowed his eyes, thinking. "Yes. That must be it." His smile returned and his excitement stirred once again. As his brother babbled on about warriors of the citadel, Faramir reflected on his lie. Denethor was not ill. What he was, Faramir could not say, but he had hidden the truth from Boromir. Something stirred deep within the heart of Denethor and Faramir sensed its evil. Whence it had come, he was not sure, but he knew when it had started—when his mother had died. She had died early for one of her race, and even though Faramir had been but five years old, he had felt her loss keenly. Yet none had felt it more than Denethor. Since that time, their father's hours in his room had grown longer and his heart had grown colder. Boromir seemed not to notice and Faramir neglected to draw his attention to the changes. Let things be and let there be peace.

A loud bang startled Faramir out of his pondering. Boromir abruptly quit speaking and they both turned heads to their father stalking across the wide floor. He was in a dangerous mood, his eyes narrowed to slits, his face pallid, his hands trembling. He spoke not a word, but roughly caught his ornate wooden chair and thrust it aside so he could sit. Faramir glanced across the table at Boromir whose eyes had widened. Denethor used shaking hands to jerk the soup tureen towards his place, spilling half its contents. Faramir and Boromir echoed the silence of their father, the former nibbling on a piece of fruit and the latter chewing slowly a leg of lamb. Neither brother dared speak. Thus, the meal progressed in utter silence until Faramir, who had finished long ago, rose to leave the hall. Denethor abruptly stood, grabbed the soup tureen, and sent it careening to the floor. Liquid and glass ricocheted off the marble in a thousand directions. Faramir had little time to comprehend this sudden action of his father when Denethor's voice rang deep but loud in the grand hall.

"I. See. Much." The words came out haltingly, a menacing pause between each. Denethor had been staring at the table since he had thrown the tureen, his palms braced on the wooden surface and his arms locked, hunched over like an old man. Now, after this strange phrase, his eyes rolled upwards to rest on his youngest son.

"I see much," he repeated. His breath was shallow and hard. Faramir feared to peer into the eyes burning fire at him. He lowered his gaze.

"You can't even look at me like a man." Denethor's voice spit scorn.

"Father—" Boromir began to intervene, but one look from Denethor silenced him.

"You don't know what I see! I know. I _know_."

Neither Faramir nor Boromir understood what their father meant and they did not inquire. Questioning would invite the hungry bite of a ravenous wolf. Faramir kept his eyes fixed on the floor. He thought he heard his father mutter something about a wizard, but the words were so low, he couldn't be certain. Suddenly, Denethor reached out a tremulous hand and gripped Faramir's sleeve in a tight grasp.

"I saw it. _You_ will bring me nothing but pain. _You_ will be my downfall!" The volume of his voice had risen with each word until he screamed the last sentence. Faramir dared to meet his father's eyes and the fury there pierced ice through his heart. Utter hate covered Denethor's features.

" _I have seen it_!" Denethor's hot breath burned Faramir's face and before more could be said, he pushed Denethor's grip aside and fled from the room.

He ran to his solace, his own hidden courtyard, a small, unused patch of grass surrounded on three sides by towering walls. Collapsing, he let out his breath and gasped like a fish withheld from water for too long. His chest ached and his head swooned. Trying desperately to calm his shivering, he let his mind wander in and out of memorized tales. Soon he regained his composure and scooted back into a corner of his courtyard. _Stories… lore…_ he forced himself to concentrate on them, yet thoughts of Denethor kept fighting their way in. Denethor had never liked him much and Faramir had not dwelt on that fact often. Still, never had Denethor treated him so, even when in his foulest moods. Something nagged in Faramir's mind, pushing and prodding him. _Lore…stories…tales… It's in there. Denethor and stories._ A shattering thought struck Faramir so hard he felt the wind knocked out of him. Sitting straight and tall, he gasped audibly. He knew.

At that moment, Boromir come flying into the solitary courtyard. He dropped beside his brother, out of breath as Faramir had been, but not because of Denethor's words; Faramir knew he had run the whole way after he had managed to get away from the hall.

Boromir steadied his breath and wheezed, "What do you think—"

Faramir interrupted. "The _palantír._ "

"What?" Boromir asked, caught unawares by the unexpected statement.

"Anarion. The _palantír_ of Anarion." The horror of it began overtaking Faramir.

"What about it?" The _palantír_ of Anarion had rested in the White Tower for many years, yet no steward had ever dared look upon it in fear of being seen by the Enemy.

"He's looked into it." Faramir turned his horrified face to Boromir. "Our father's dared to use it."

Boromir contemplated Faramir for a moment, then laughed easily. "Never. He wouldn't do that."

"He might."

Boromir stood up, shaking his head. "Come now, Faramir. Your head is too full of ancient lore and old women's stories. No one looks into that thing."

Faramir stood himself and pleaded urgently. "But if he has. Boromir, if he has dared do such a thing… It will kill him. He said he had seen. What else could it mean?"

Boromir laughed again, loud and dismissive. "Then it has lied. You aren't going to destroy our Father."

Faramir's heart beat against his ribs. "I am not surprised it would lie. But if I am not his downfall, it surely will be!"

"It won't," Boromir insisted. "Forget this story. This _palantír_. It's foolish. Come. Let's forget and play." He reached out for Faramir's arm, but Faramir backed away.

"You're not listening, Boromir!"

"I am. And it's all foolish. The _palantír_ , our father's ideas, _y_ _our_ ideas. Your lore of old. It's useless."

"All but the warriors' tales," snorted Faramir, annoyed and not a little angry at being treated like a silly child.

"Those are worth something," Boromir laughed heartily. "No, my brother. You are wrong. There is no _palantír_ to worry about. Forget those tales that idle your brain." Boromir pulled at his arm. "Come."

"Listen to me!"

"Let this go," Boromir returned gruffly.

"No!"

That was when it had happened, when he did something he never thought he could. There were no brothers so united in love as Faramir and Boromir. Yet in a moment of overwhelming frustration, Faramir found himself rashly striking out, clenching his fist and sending it careening into Boromir's face. The strength of the blow pitched the elder brother to the ground. He sat still, staring up at Faramir, shock in his clear grey eyes.

Faramir fled. He did not stay to help his brother up or to apologize. In that impulsive moment, he wanted to fly as far away as he could. His feet carried him straight to the Houses of Healing, directed by his heart seeking out the one who could bring him the comfort he craved. He ran so hard his lungs about burst and by the time he reached the room of the Warden of the Houses of Healing bitter tears streamed down his face.

"Faramir!" Elboron exclaimed. "What has happened?" The healer put aside the medicine jar he held and grasped the young boy's arms in his hands. Faramir wanted to tell Elboron everything and tried to speak it all at once, but only emitted a gasp and sob.

"Wait. Wait for it to subside. Let it calm. Then we may talk." Elboron's voice was soft and even in his misery Faramir admired this simple man. Elboron had been the Warden of the Houses of Healing for a very long time. Faramir didn't know his exact age, but the deep lines that carved his face and hands indicated a tremendous number of years. Faramir had known the Warden since birth; Elboron had been the first to lay hands on him as he aided Finduilas, Faramir's mother, the day he was born. He had lent his aid again five years later, working tirelessly to cure Finduilas of what ailed her, but she had wasted away regardless. After her death, Denethor had locked himself up in his room for days on end, sharing not his grief with anyone, but calling Boromir at times. Faramir had found solace in the Houses of Healing and especially in the tenderness of Elboron. Elboron had become a second father to him and it was his empathy that eased Faramir's sorrow in that dark hour. Since that time, he had gone to Elboron often, to learn of lore and to observe his skillful hands at work. Faramir had learned much of peace and compassion in Elboron's company.

As his tears abated, Faramir saw Elboron's gaze reflected sad sympathy. "I see in your face troubles and that of family."

Faramir inhaled deeply, then nodded.

"Your father?"

Faramir wanted to confirm Elboron's assumption, but Denethor's words that had cut to the quick had all but washed from his mind when he had struck Boromir. His brother had never treated him with anything but the highest regard. Faramir loved him as himself, even more so. Boromir had been his protector and helper at every point in his life. How could he have done it?

Allowing more air to flood his lungs, Faramir shook his head in answer to Elboron's question.

Elboron raised his eyebrow skeptically. "Your brother?"

Faramir bowed his head and whispered. "Yes… Boromir." And then the tale came spilling out: Denethor's harsh words, Faramir's suspicions, Boromir's ignorance, and the sudden punch. Elboron listened quietly, though he grunted when Faramir mentioned the Seeing Stone. When he finished, Elboron smiled slightly, and then sighed.

"I suppose it would do no good to tell you, Faramir, that many brothers fight and very few live as you two have done." He looked to Faramir for a response, but Faramir only stared at him. "I didn't think so."

"You see," Elboron continued, "family is a difficult thing. Most men never find true love within it. They seek for it, but it eludes them. Your father sought it and found it, but when it left him, he, too, succumbed to darker pursuits. You and Boromir have discovered a rare jewel: brotherly love. That is to be cherished and held dear all your days."

Faramir lowered his eyes. Elboron was right. Still, the Warden's words did not ease his pain. Rather, his guilt increased. Elboron seemed to read his thoughts for he put his hand on the boy's shoulder and smiled tenderly.

"Boromir, too, holds this love for you. This is an unconditional love. It forgives any offense."

Now Faramir understood. If two brothers loved each other as much as he and Boromir, nothing that occurred between them could destroy their relationship. Yet Faramir dreaded to face his brother after what he had done.

"Give Boromir time. Then approach him. I doubt you will find him harsh."

Staring up at the older man, Faramir greatly wished he had this gentle man for his father instead of Denethor. As if his thoughts of Denethor caused the steward to appear, Faramir heard his name yelled in the severe tones of his father. Elboron hastily stood.

"Here, Faramir! Be quick!"

Elboron pushed Faramir between his bed and the wall it rested beside. Faramir knelt down and curled up, listening intently. Heavy footsteps pounded and Denethor's voice broke into the room, coarse and unforgiving.

" _Where is he_?" Denethor demanded viciously. The image of a wolf desperate to devour its prey passed into Faramir's mind.

"Who are you inquiring after, my Lord?" Elboron's steady voice answered with a question of his own.

"You know who!" Denethor's speech boomed in the small room. "He's come to you—his precious savior! Reveal him now!"

All of a sudden, Faramir heard Boromir's voice, insistent and begging. "Father, it was an accident. Please don't."

"Silence, Boromir! I know a cowardly blow when I see one. Faramir will pay for it. Now for you, Elboron, where is he?" A slap sounded and he could abide hiding no longer. He could not bear that Elboron would suffer for his actions. Bravely, he stood up from behind the bed and surveyed the scene.

Boromir stood next to Denethor, his left-hand clutching at their father's robe. A twinge of guilt shuddered through him at his brother's swollen right eye. Elboron stood in front of Denethor, several feet away from him. Faramir realized his error at once. Denethor had not struck the older man as he had supposed. His father, the most imposing figure in the room, eyes flashing fire and drawn up to his full height, had slammed a white ashen rod onto the bed in his anger. Faramir knew what this forebode, but he did not run. He stood as still as an oak rooted in soil for hundreds of years and laid motionless eyes on Denethor.

All froze momentarily, then Denethor, with a raging howl, leapt at Faramir. Boromir still clung to his robe, crying out, "Father, no!"

Elboron jumped in front of Faramir. "My Lord, you don't know what you are doing!"

The older man was no match for Denethor who pushed him aside as a frail breath of wind. He reached out for Faramir, shouting, "Worthless deceiver! How dare you lay a hand upon your brother! You will never be his equal!"

Denethor's left hand gripped Faramir by his hair, hauling him away from the wall into the middle of the room. Faramir yelped at the pain that exploded from his scalp. Denethor raised the white rod to strike, and Faramir screwed his eyes shut in anticipation. The rod slapped sharply, but he felt nothing. Slowly, he opened his eyes. Boromir crouched in front of Faramir, grasping his shoulder, tears welling up in his eyes. It took Faramir only a moment to deduce what had occurred: Boromir had stepped in front of him, taking the blow intended for him. Denethor cried out and let go of Faramir.

"My son! My son! Forgive me!" Denethor had gone completely weak and knelt before Boromir.

Boromir spoke in a strained voice. "I am all right, Father. I forgive you."

Denethor wept and appeared as feeble as a dead blade of grass in winter. Elboron had already summoned two healers who aided the steward to his feet. Denethor mumbled in a stupor. Elboron spoke softly to the healers.

"Take him back to his hall. Let him rest now."

After Denethor had departed, Faramir took his place, kneeling in front of his brother who had slumped to the floor. Boromir stared at him, his right eye beginning to bruise, his hand still on his wounded shoulder. Guilt overshadowed Faramir, wrenching his gut. All this had come because of him. Faramir slowly found his voice. He whispered.

"Boromir, please forgive me. I didn't mean to… I just… I'm sorry." Nothing sounded right to his ears. How could he beg forgiveness adequately for what he had caused the one he loved most in this world? His heart beat wildly and his stomach ached.

Boromir let go his shoulder and moved his hand to his brother's arm. "I could never hate you, my brother. I was wrong to dismiss your misgivings. Perhaps they will be proved right after all." Boromir glanced at the door as he said this, indicating the steward that had just left. "He is not what he once was." Boromir's expression hardened. But as he turned back to Faramir, it softened once more. "If you forgive me, I shall forgive you."

Faramir nodded. "I do, Boromir. I do." He could contain his emotion no longer. Boromir's words released his pent-up fears and he began to weep uncontrollably. All the events of the morning found release in his cries. He felt Elboron lifting him up and laying him on the bed.

"Rest, little one. Be still for a while." The old man's kind voice entered his mind as he sensed something placed under his nose and a mustiness tingled up his nostrils.

As he had many times before, Faramir found himself escaping into the peace of a deep sleep. The hate of his father that had wounded his spirit dissipated, his guilt diminished, and his body began to unwind. As he listened to the muted song of the old healer, the room dimmed and he felt the tender caress of Boromir's calloused hand on his forehead.

"Dear Faramir. If only our father hated me instead of you."

Faramir hardly heard the words spoken by his brother; he was concentrating on the sensation of Boromir's touch. The song of the Warden neared its conclusion. Faramir heard it only as if from a far distance away. Darkness overtook him and the youngest son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, found peace for a time.


End file.
